The Moment I Said It
by OnceInALifetime
Summary: Morgan's a private man, one who hides his past from all. But when he receives a call and his world's turned upside down, how will he react? What will he do in order to save those going through what no one should ever experience? Spoils Profiler, Profiled.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer – If I owned Criminal Minds… well, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Summary - This entire story is based upon the scene between Carl Buford (blech) and Morgan in _Profiler, Profiled. _At one point, Morgan says that Buford killed Damian because he knew that if Damian called Morgan and told him what Buford was doing to James, Morgan would hunt him down. That was all it took for my little fanfiction-addicted brain to wonder, 'what _would've _happened if Damian and James had called Morgan?' And then, this story was born.**

***Notes – This will eventually be a light Morgan/Reid slash pairing, so if you're not a slasher, then this most likely won't be you're cup of tea. That being said, I hope everyone else enjoys!**

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"I've done nothing wrong! I've saved this town – I _saved_ those boys! Derek, you know that's the truth!" Dark eyes with a bottomless depth scanned the room until they latched onto Morgan's face, boring into him desperately. "Derek, tell them the truth!"

Morgan opened his eyes and glared at the other man, _glared _with all he had in him. He was leaning back against a cold cement wall, arms crossed tight against his chest. He knew that the position was defensive, knew that his body language was screaming vulnerability, but he couldn't help it. The reaction was instinctive, and he was too damn tired, too damned _sick_, to fight it.

"Tell them, Derek!" he yelled, his voice dropping an octave. Morgan pressed his lips together, ducked his head down for the briefest second before straightening, refusing to concede power to this _sonofabitch. _"Tell them I did nothing wrong! Tell them you'd be nothing – _nothing!_ – without me!"

Morgan opened his mouth, but no words would come out. He swallowed, harsh, feeling his throat muscles work before he took a deep, shaky breath. There was so much to say – so much pain to make up for, so many years of relentless self loathing, confusion, pain. But at the same time, there was nothing he could say; no words could make up for everything that had happened.

"I hope you burn in hell," Morgan choked out, hating how his voice wavered around the giant lump that was blocking his throat. He tried to inhale, but his chest felt tight, too tight. He pressed his back tighter against the wall, feeling a ragged edge of the concrete dig into his back. _Focus, it's almost over. He's almost gone. You saved them – that's what counts._

The police finished roughly snapping the handcuffs behind his back before leading him to the exit door. Morgan stepped forwards, away from the wall; part unthinking, mostly defiantly, as the man walked by. A scent wafted towards him, one that brought back too many memories, memories he didn't want to relive. Morgan forced himself to hold his ground through sheer will, fiercely ignoring the trembling that was beginning to ransack his body. Morgan watched as they led _him_ down the hallway, out of his line of sight.

A hand descended on his shoulder without warning, and he spun around on his heel, defensive, blind panic overwhelming him. "Morgan, Morgan, it's me! Derek, it's okay," a soft voice whispered in his ear. Morgan looked into amber eyes, wide and innocent, and dropped the hand that he'd been squeezing too tightly. Reid was staring back at him, bringing a free hand to absently rub at the one Morgan had grasped.

"Spe- Reid," Morgan whispered, looking over his shoulder to see Gideon and Prentiss behind him. "What… what are you doing here?" He took a slow breath, trying to steady his racing pulse and rapid breathing. "I told you all to stay…"

"Morgan, we're profilers," Prentiss spoke up, her eyes warm and sympathetic while a small smile tugged at her lips. "You're gonna have to be come a better liar then that in order to fool us."

"True," Morgan whispered, hoping that none of them noticed his shining eyes. He wanted to say something, but he had no idea where to start. Numbness was descending, eerily similar to when he'd first heard the news about his father's death, and the first time… _that _had happened. He turned on his heel and walked out of the building, seeing police cars fading to a pinpoint at the end of the long, dark street.

Morgan inhaled the cold air deeply before scrubbing a hand roughly down his face, his breath escaping in a shuddering gasp. He heard footsteps coming down the stairs, the tentative yet firm steps alerting him to who it was.

"Derek?" The word was just a whisper on the breeze, yet it spoke louder then anything Morgan had heard all night. He felt a presence behind him, warm and comforting, never asking for more than Morgan could give. "I love you."

The words were the crack in Morgan's armour. He reached behind him to grasp the hand he knew was waiting for him as silent tears slid down his face. A warm thumb stroked across the back of his hand, a gesture that was more soothing then it had the right to be. He felt his hand being lifted, warm lips pressing to the back of it in a lingering kiss.

Morgan looked up at the dim stars in the sky, and silently thanked god that this was over.

_One month earlier._

_-_

_-_

_-_

"Oh Prentiss, don't deny it. You're just jealous that you can't tap this!" Morgan sprawled out on his rolling chair and spun in a slow circle, grinning enticingly up at the brunette the entire time. Prentiss looked like she was stuck between laughing hysterically and throwing up. Instead, she murmured "Oh dear god… I'm having nightmares tonight," before heading back over to her desk.

"Hey, what's that mean?" Morgan yelled across the bullpen. "They're not gonna be nightmares, baby – you're gonna have fantasies!" Chuckling, he turned back to his desk, but not before catching Hotch's eye, who was staring at him with one brow raised. Morgan shrugged his shoulder in response to the strict gaze before turning to his desk and paperwork, feeling grateful that his dark skin didn't allow his flush to show.

"What'd you do this time?" Reid asked casually as he walked by Morgan's desk, halting briefly. Morgan looked up, the devilish smile on his lips belying his attempts at innocent body language.

"What makes you think I did anything wrong, Reid?" he teased, faking shock.

"Hotch was just looking at you like you managed to light the jet on fire," Reid deadpanned, tilting his head slightly as Morgan laughed.

"Kid, Hotch _always_ looks like someone lit the jet on fire," Morgan chuckled. "You can laugh; you know it's the truth." A reluctant smile broke out on Reid's lips, lighting his entire face. Morgan's chuckle died down as he watched Reid, and he forced himself to look away. A sharp trill caught his attention, and he instinctively reached down to grab his phone before he'd even consciously realized it was ringing.

Morgan glanced at the number briefly before doing a double take. His caller ID read _anonymous caller_. Frowning, he glanced up at Reid and flipped open his phone before saying, "SSA Derek Morgan with the FBI," in a gruff voice. _Hopefully that'll scare off any prank callers._

"Derek?" a young, male voice asked, no more than fifteen years old. "I mean, Mr. Morgan?" Something in the boy's voice, the quiet urgency, caused Morgan to straighten up in his chair.

"Yeah, this is Derek. Who's this?" Morgan pressed the phone to his ear using his shoulder as he grabbed a pen and paper off of his desk. Following a gut instinct, and knowing that Reid was looking over his shoulder, he scrawled down '_Call Garcia, get her to track this number,_' before focusing back on the conversation. He vaguely heard Reid open his phone and dial the technical analyst.

"I'm a friend of James… James Barfield," the kid said. "He said you guys are friends?" The voice was hesitant, unsure.

"James and I are friends, definitely," Morgan replied, keeping his voice smooth and even. "Why? Is James okay? Did something happen?" He knew his voice had changed, revealing panic, and that the person on the other end would be able to hear it, but he couldn't help it.

"No, James is okay." Derek's shoulders relaxed, releasing some of the tension that had built up in them within those few short minutes. "I mean, he's not _okay_, but he's physically fine. I mean… shit," the kid mumbled.

"Hey kid, what's your name?" Derek asked soothingly, pushing his confusion and panic away. "You can talk to me; trust me, okay?"

"Okay," the boy said slowly, taking a deep breath. "M'names Damian, and… The kid fell silent, and Morgan was able to make out the sound of voices in the background. "I've got to go," he said hastily, hanging up before Morgan could protest.

He clicked the phone shut slowly, staring at it as if it could answer all of his questions. A brief second passed before he flipped the phone open and dialled Garcia's number.

"Welcome to my land of wonders; how can I help you, my macho mocha lover?" Garcia trilled as a greeting. Morgan could hear her fingers clacking away on her keyboards as she talked.

"Baby girl, did Reid tell you to set up a trace on the call I just got?" Morgan asked. Garcia pursed her lips even as she leaned forwards in her chair, fingers flying over the keys.

"Yes, yes I did, give me one second," she mumbled, watching the information that was popping up on her screen. "You okay, sweet cheeks?"

"Fine," Morgan grunted, causing the frown lines in Garcia's forehead to deepen. That definitely didn't _sound_ fine_._ "What've you got?"

"The call originated from Chicago," she said absently as she scanned over the screen. "It came from a payphone… I don't know how much information I was able to retrieve, considering the lack of time I had to set a trace… give me a minute. I'll email you the information, alright?"

"Thanks baby," Morgan responded, about to shut the phone when he heard Garcia's voice call out. He pulled the phone back up to his year, saying, "Yeah?"

"Morgan… what's this about?" Garcia asked, pausing her movements.

Honestly, sweetheart? I don't know. But don't worry your pretty little head about it," Morgan flirted, over-exaggerating a kissing noise into the phone before hanging up. Hopefully, that was enough to fool her. Feeling as if an unnamed weight was pressing down on his shoulders, Morgan stood up just in time to see JJ walking briskly towards the briefing room, calling "We've got a case!" loud enough for the entire team to hear.

Pushing the phone call to the back of his mind, pushing his worry about James away, Morgan rolled his shoulders and followed JJ, not noticing a concerned Reid watching him.

*

*

It had been a hard case. The unsub had been kidnapping female twins, torturing one while making the other watch. One girl was inflicted with both shallow and deep knife wounds until she died of blood loss, while the other was shot point blank in the forehead immediately following her sister's death. One was tortured, the other left physically unharmed. The unsub had killed three pairs of twins, and the team was scrambling to find her before she killed Stephanie and Anna, the two girls she'd kidnapped days prior.

Eventually, after two weeks of no sleep and endless coffee, they'd caught her; a twenty-eight year old woman who'd lost her own twin when she was a child. The trauma had gone deep, and the unsub, Marcie Timmons, had believed she was saving her victims from what was "bound to come."

Morgan flinched as he remembered the arrest. They'd busted into the unsub's empty house before Reid realized that Marcie had to have been keeping the girls away from the house. There was a barn on her property, through wooded areas half a mile away. Morgan, Prentiss and Hotch had ran there, while Reid and Gideon stayed behind, looking through the house.

By the time they'd arrived, they'd been too late. Morgan had run in, gun steady and his mind clear. Marcie had been standing in the middle of the barn, _knowing _that she was caught, but waving a gun around nonetheless, threatening to kill herself. But it didn't fit the profile; then Morgan noticed that he could only see one girl, not two. The girl he was looking at out of the corner of his eye seemed physically unharmed, excluding the duct tape on her mouth and the ropes that bound her to a wooden post.

"_Hotch," _he'd whispered, _"where's the other girl?"_ As soon as he asked the question, he realized. _"Hotch, this is a diversion. Both of the girls are in here, and one of them must be bleeding out – __**right now**__." _ But they couldn't move, not with the unsub waving a gun around, easily within shooting range of Anna.

Hotch had talked to Marcie, distracting her long enough for Morgan to sneak around back. He found Stephanie directly in Anna's line of sight, behind a stack of hay bails that had hidden her from anyone that came through the barn's front entrance. She was covered in cuts, naked, and bleeding heavily; her blood was a stark red contrast to the brown flooring.

Morgan called the medics, for back-up, but it had been too late. It was always too late. By the time Marice was subdued and the paramedics arrived, the blood loss had been too extreme. Stephanie had simply looked up at Morgan, the panic in her eyes still lingering, even in death. Morgan could still see those eyes, so much like the ones that still caused him nightmares, staring up at him.

"Morgan." The voice floated into his ear, snapping Morgan out of his thoughts. He looked over at Reid, who was watching him with curious eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Morgan replied, a throw back to the curt reply he'd given Garcia over two weeks ago on the phone. "Just glad this case is over," he added, seeing Reid's hurt expression at being shunned.

Reid didn't reply, sinking in a chair next to Morgan instead. His long limbs covered the upholstery of the chair, blocking blue print flowers from view. One arm was flung over the arm rest, and his hand was just centimetres from where Morgan's was resting; he could feel Reid's body heat.

"You're not coming back with us, are you?" Reid asked casually, so casually that it took Morgan a moment to realize what Reid had deduced.

"Whaddya mean?" he asked, fatigue and surprise slurring his words. "Of course I'm coming back to the BAU! You think I'm leaving? Reid, kid, I promised I'd never leave. You _know_ that."

Reid sat back, the gears in his head obviously turning as he examined Morgan. "I never insinuated that you were leaving the BAU," he said slowly, watching as Morgan ducked his head. "I appreciate your vehement denials of the fact, but I was referring to the more immediate future." At Morgan's confused look, Reid elaborated while gesticulating wildly with his hands, as per usual. "I meant that you aren't coming back to Quantico with us on the jet, are you? You have another plan in mind."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, the silent question '_how did you know?'_ dangling between them. Reid simply held his gaze for a moment before dropping his head and tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, his awkward disposition back.

Morgan cleared his throat, prepared to lie about how he needed to visit his family, but found a partial truth coming out instead. "There's something… something I need to take care of." The admission surprised him, and Morgan chalked it up to a lack of sleep. Not admitting, of course, that it's because something about Reid makes him feel less vulnerable, more trusting. Of course not.

Reid looked as if he was going to press it, but patted Morgan's shoulder before standing up instead, his fingers brushing against the worn cotton of Morgan's shirt. Morgan's shoulder tingled at the contact. He refused to admit that he was attracted to Reid; it simply wasn't possible. Not because Reid wasn't handsome enough, or funny enough, but because he was his colleague. They were friends, family, and Morgan refused to do _anything _that could risk that. So what if Reid's smile could make his heart go a little wonky? He was willing to keep their relationship at the status quo. That way, no one got hurt. (_Especially not me)._

The arrival of the team broke Morgan out of his thoughts. He rose out of the chair, walking across the hotel's lobby to meet Hotch, Prentiss, and Gideon. Reid was standing away from the group with JJ corner, talking to her animatedly about… well, Morgan had no idea.

"I am _so _excited to sleep in my bed tonight," Prentiss said, watching as the team nodded in agreement. "Hell, I'm just going to be happy to sleep!" The laughter from the team was forced; everyone's mind was still on the case.

"Come on, let's go," Hotch said, his face as set and serious as ever. The team all brushed by him as they headed out the hotel doors. Hotch turned to follow, but was stopped when Morgan said his name.

"What's going on, Morgan?" Hotch asked softly – well, softly for Hotch – looking at the agent with a tinge of concern in his gaze. Morgan had been… almost _off_, recently. There was no other way to describe it. His work had been as impeccable as always, but he'd seemed borderline distracted. Hotch had figured the case was just getting to him – it had gotten to all of them – but his worry for the younger agent had lingered.

"Can I have a couple days off?" Morgan asked, deliberately keeping eye contact.

"Sure, that's fine. You have more than enough sick days and vacation days stored away," Hotch replied, before adding in, "Why?"

"I just need some personal time," Morgan covered, ignoring Hotch's concerned gaze. Profiling team members was strictly prohibited, but Morgan knew as well as the rest of the team that it wasn't so easy to just turn off the part of them that caused them to excel in this career. He knew that Hotch was watching him, studying him to see if he was okay. "I just… I want to visit my family for a while."

The slightest relaxing of Hotch's facial muscles showed that Morgan's few words calmed him immensely. Hotch believed him, because Morgan wasn't lying. He _did _want to visit his family, to take a brief step back from the horror and brutality that was their life. He just also wanted to check up on this anonymous phone call that had been on his mind for the past two weeks, as well as checking up on James Barfield and the rest of the kids at the rec center.

He'd called his mother as soon as the team had finished debriefing the case, in order to check up on James. His gut told him that the kid that had been on the phone with him, Damian, been telling the truth, and that James was fine. But either way, he wanted to make sure. James was a good kid, and considering everything he'd gone through (everything he's going through…) Morgan stopped that train of thought before it could go any further.

Hotch patted him on the back before following the team, startling Morgan back to reality. He pulled out his cell phone, scrolling over the email that Garcia had sent him two weeks ago regarding the information on the call she'd traced. It had originated from a payphone, just outside the rec center.

Morgan read the already memorized information one last time before he slid his phone into his pocket and headed for his rental car, fingering the two, Chicago bound plane tickets that were inside his jacket pocket.

He slid into the front seat of the cramped car, pulling out a pair of sunglasses and putting them on before turning the car on. Backing out of the parking spot, he drove out of the parking lot and headed towards the airport, determined to figure out what the hell was going on, and what causing his gut instinct to warn him that something nasty was ahead.

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**Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated! The good, the bad, the ugly… I'll take it all. I know everything may seem a bit confusing, but it will all be explained in time, I promise. Let me know what you think, even if it's to tell me that I should never be allowed CM characters and a laptop again! And I'll end this rambling A/N before it becomes embarrassingly long.**


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer – I don't own **_**Criminal Minds, **_**Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, or any of their affiliates. If I did, there would be a helluva lot more Morgan/Reid lovin' on the show.**

***Notes - I'm so sorry for how long this chapter took! In my defence, the winter holidays were a lot busier than I had expected. Anyways, I hope that you guys are still with me, and that you enjoy this chapter. All mistakes are mine, since I didn't have time to send this to a beta.**

**---**

"_We have officially arrived in Chicago. The time is 2:45PM; the temperature outside the aircraft is currently at…." _the flight attendant's voice droned overhead on the speakers. Morgan reluctantly popped his headphones out and stared out the window, pretending to listen, pretending to care. Absentmindedly, he fished his phone out of his pocket and scanned through his inbox for any new text messages or calls.

He'd been playing with his phone, on and off, since the plane had taken off. At first, the flight attendants had politely asked him to "turn off all cellular devices while the plane is in the air." One flash of his FBI credentials, however, and they'd left him alone. Hell, they'd even upgraded him to first class. A thin smile stretched Morgan's lips as he stretched his legs and arched his back, pretending not to notice when his shirt rode up and when the woman beside him stared.

When the flight attendant had relocated him, Morgan had instinctively flashed his new, temporary neighbour a smile, the same one he used to charm women out of their underwear. Her name, he'd found out during the flight, was Nicole, and she was attractive, with long dark hair, creamy skin, and deep green eyes; she'd also been quite obvious with her interest in him. Well, maybe not obvious for an every day man, but blatantly obvious from a profiler's perspective.

He'd tried flirting with her after she'd initiated conversation; really, he had. But every time he'd whipped out a corny line and every time he'd dropped a wink, it hadn't felt… _right_. The interaction felt forced, as if it was something he was expecting himself to do instead of something he _wanted_ to do. Morgan had tried to brush off the feeling – after all, he was _Derek Morgan_, the ultimate player. Except there were only so many times he could fake a laugh before it became apparent to both him and his companions.

The only genuine smile that had crossed his face on the hour long plane ride was when he'd opened an email Reid had sent him. It was one of those chain mails, the ones with the corny jokes. Reid insisted on sending them to Morgan, even when Morgan threatened to have Garcia hack his email account. The memory of that conversation, of the doubtful way Reid had looked up at him before he'd blushed, was the reason that smile had settled on his lips.

"Sir? We're unloading the aircraft?" the flight attendant said, a customary smile on her lips. Morgan glanced up at her as he unbuckled his seat belt. She had a way of making everything sound like a question, even if it wasn't. Morgan was about to reach under the seat to grab his carry on bag when his eyes caught on the flight attendant's name tag. _Stephanie._

Images of open, unseeing eyes played across the backs of his eyelids as if burned there. Morgan froze, his hand still outstretched to grab his bag, remembering the events of the case he'd been working on just the day before. He was dimly aware of the flight attendant, of Stephanie, touching his shoulder and asking if he was alright, but he was frozen – remembering.

A moment passed, and then Morgan was moving as if nothing had happened, forcing the memories to the back of his mind. He shot a wavering smile at Stephanie, knowing without a doubt that it was shaky.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her hand still resting on his shoulder. Morgan barely resisted the impulse to throw it off, instead sliding out of the touch and standing up in a smooth, almost feline movement.

"Fine," he replied, already working his way to the front of the plane. "Thanks for the wonderful flight, and the upgrade." His words were a bit monotonous, but considering that all he could see in his mind were crime scene photos and dead bodies…

He walked through the terminal in a daze, stopping only to retrieve a phone number out of his pocket. The name _Nicole _was written on the back in a fancy calligraphy, a number scrawled on the front. Morgan looked at it for a long moment before tossing it into the nearest trash receptacle; the woman had thought she was being subtle when she'd slipped it into his jacket, but fooling an ex-undercover cop and current FBI agent was a lot harder than it looked.

Morgan absentmindedly grabbed his luggage off of the carousel. He scanned the crowds around him, reading body language, facial expressions, and sudden movements. On some level, he realized that he was defensively profiling complete strangers that posed no threat to him, for no discernable reason. He tried to stop, but a sudden feeling of vulnerability would sweep over him until he resumed his actions. Of course, you couldn't tell this from the outside; one thing Derek Morgan excelled at was appearing calm and collected, even when he was feeling the furthest thing from it.

Once he'd collected his go bag (he hadn't been allowed to take it with him on the plane) from the carousel, Morgan made a beeline for the car rental area. The next thing he knew, he was driving away from the airport in a black SUV. He wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to score the vehicle on such short notice, but he vaguely remembered flashing his badge and _maybe _mumbling some threats about the FBI under his breath. After that, the car rental company had been more than willing to comply with his request.

All the while, flashes of open eyes, unseeing gazes, played behind his eyelids. They mixed with much more familiar memories, ones of helplessness and desperation, until it was one inseparable mess of pain and confusion.

Once on the highway, Morgan cranked the radio and inhaled deeply, trying to force himself to let go of memories of the past and to focus on the present. The present, in this case, was a mysterious call from someone claiming to be a friend of James Barfield.

Morgan had asked Garcia to do a check up on James after receiving the call, just to make sure that he was okay. Garcia's report had come back positive… well, to her, at least. The news had made Morgan want to throw up. His driving went onto auto-pilot as Morgan slipped back into the memory of that conversation.

-

-

"_James Barfield seems to be doing just hunky-dory, my chocolate Adonis," Garcia replied, her voice absent as she absorbed the information. Morgan had just chuckled at Garcia's rather odd vocabulary before pressing the phone tighter to his ear._

"_Continue, sweet cheeks," Morgan had laughed, relaxing his shoulders as he walked out towards the plane. _

"_Oooh, you know how that demanding tone affects me so, you little tease." Garcia's smile was obvious even through the phone. "But fine… I found a newspaper clipping… it says that James is training for a football scholarship, and that – oh, poor thing – his sister was paralyzed in a drive by shooting." Morgan could hear the sympathy in Garcia's voice, and hated himself when he asked her to continue, to pry deeper._

"_Anything else, my tech goddess?"_

"_Nothing big… oh, it says here that James' success in football has been attributed to a Carl Buford, who took James under his wing and 'developed his natural talent.'" A clacking came over the line – Garcia's fingers tapping away on the various keyboards – hiding Morgan's sharp intake of breath. _

"_Apparently this Buford is quite the saint," Garcia continued; Morgan guessed she was pulling up information on Carl, as well. "He runs a rec center in downtown Chicago, as well as coaching some of these boys to scholarships and.... hon', are you there?"_

'_Buford is not a saint', Morgan thought, hating how after all these years, he still choked on the name. 'He's _anything_ but.'_

"_Okay, hot stuff, he's not a saint," Garcia sounded almost intimated by him, and it took Morgan a minute to realize that he'd been talking out loud. "Can I ask what this is all about?"_

"_Nothing," Morgan replied, knowing that it would do nothing to keep Garcia from wondering, but also knowing that she would never invade his privacy by researching his past. Thank god for that. "Thanks, sweetheart," Morgan muttered absently into the phone before hanging up._

_-_

_-_

A horn blared to his left, and Morgan was snapped out of his thoughts. An angry teenager with a green 'N' sticking to the back of his window honked again, clearly expressing his road rage at Morgan for god knows what – actually sticking to the speed limit, maybe?

The small car was packed with teenagers – far more than were allowed with a new driver – and they were all cheering the driver on.

Morgan simply tightened his grip on the steering wheel, refusing to react. On a different day, maybe he'd get out of his SUV, flash his badge, scare the living daylights out of the teens. But today… he didn't know if he had the energy, or the patience, to deal with a crowd of arrogant teenagers.

They followed him for a half block before speeding up and turning onto an adjacent road, streaking away. Morgan exhaled slowly and continued to drive past one block, then two, until he was at his destination.

The rec center looked the same, he noted as he parked across the street. He watched as the older kids in the fenced in yard kicked a soccer ball back and forth, separated from the younger children, who were playing on a rather modest playground.

Morgan ultimately found himself watching a pair of kids; one was James, the other, he didn't recognize. And that was odd, considering that with his yearly visits, Morgan was normally able to name off every kid who visited the rec center. _Maybe this is that kid that called me – Damian?_

With a renewed interest, Morgan studied their body language and quickly realized that there was a lot more going on then just a friendly game of catch. James was clearly standing defensively – almost fearfully – with his chin tucked, instinctively protecting his neck, and his entire body hunched in on himself. Even with the distance separating them, Morgan could see the tenseness emanating from James. Meanwhile, the stranger (Damian, Morgan was assuming), looked like he was… pleading, almost, with his hands open, leaning ever-so-slightly into James personal space, making his presence known without intimidation.

He was about to get out of the car to approach them when a burly, dark skinned man stepped out of the center and headed over to the boys. Morgan watched, paralyzed, as he approached James and rested his hand casually on the boy's shoulder. A wave of pure hatred shot through Morgan's veins, and his hands clenched tight around the steering wheel.

He watched, that stupid _fear _thrumming through him, as Carl urged James back into the rec center. When James's companion hand shot out, knocking Carl's hand off of James's shoulder, a sliver of surprise briefly numbed Morgan's swirling emotions.

A look passed between the three of them; Morgan only dimly make out their facial expressions from the distance, but when he combined that with their body language, he was able to read them. Carl was frustrated (Morgan refused to think _why_), James seemed hopeless and resigned, while his companion looked disgusted and angry, all of his rage directed at Buford.

Morgan watched as James reluctantly followed Carl back into the center. He was considering getting out of the SUV and talking to James's companion when Carl turned around, his gaze landing right on Morgan's partially opened window.

The flood of emotions that those dark eyes inspired in Morgan caused his stomach to clench, a wave of nausea sweeping over him. Before rational thinking could kick in, he slammed the stalling vehicle's gear into drive and shot down the street, refusing to look into his rear view mirror, knowing that Carl's gaze would be following him down the street.

*

*

When he pulled up to the hotel, Morgan slumped against the back of his seat as a bone-deep weariness hit him. After leaving the rec center, he'd driven around aimlessly for hours, trying to drive fast enough to leave his past behind him.

He hadn't quite managed to do that, but he did manage to drive past his old neighbourhood, as well as the neighbourhood where his mother and sisters currently lived. He'd been tempted to pop in and say hi, but he hadn't for two reasons. One, he knew that his family wouldn't leave him alone until he explained why he was in Chicago, and that involved too much lying for him right now. Secondly, he didn't have the energy left in him; all he wanted was a long, hot shower and a cold beer.

Morgan grabbed his two small bags from the SUV before locking the vehicle and heading into the hotel. It wasn't five stars or first class, but he knew that it had a warm bed and decent service; right now, that was all he was asking for.

He headed straight for the front desk, booking himself a room for the next two days, figuring he could always extend his stay if necessary. After all, this visit was more out of curiosity and a desire to check up on the youth of the neighbourhood, more than anything else.

He smiled weakly at the clerk when she passed him his room key. Turning around, he found himself blinking in surprise when he saw Reid sitting on one of the lounging couches set in the lobby. There was a book settled in his lap, and he was reading at an obscenely fast pace. Morgan let his gaze wander over the doctor, feeling a loosening in his chest at the familiar sight.

As if he could feel Morgan's gaze, Reid placed a bookmark to hold his page before shutting the book and stuffing it in the satchel he was never without. Morgan had tried to buy him a, well, _less ugly _one a while back, but Reid had politely refused, claiming he wasn't going to replace what wasn't broken.

Reid stood, and Morgan felt an involuntary smile cross his face. Between the nightmares he'd suffered the night previous, seeing Buford again, and the endless hours of driving, the sight of a familiar and smiling (_and perfect_) face was just what he needed.

Morgan adjusted the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder before walking over to Reid. He was about to embrace the other agent before a sobering, and obvious, thought washed over him, saving him from the potential embarrassment of randomly hugging his colleague.

"Pretty boy! What are you doing here? Hell, how did you even know I was here?" Morgan asked, studying Reid carefully and waiting for a response.

Reid ducked his head and scooped a chunk of hair behind his ear, collecting his thoughts. Morgan was more than used to it, and simply waited the pause out. After a minute, Reid looked back up and started explaining. However, Morgan was distracted by how Reid's greyish-green eyes were framed by dark circles and pale skin. The younger agent looked utterly exhausted.

"… and I knew something was off, so I called Garcia and, um, convinced her to tell me where you were, and what was going on. By the way, Hotch and Prentiss will be here tomorrow," Reid finished, looking up at Morgan with wide, innocent eyes. Morgan tried desperately to drag his mind off of his worry for Reid and onto the conversation at hand; a few words that the doctor had uttered caught his attention, causing Morgan's brain to focus.

"Prentiss and Hotch are coming here? _Why_?" Morgan practically hissed, feeling the weight of yet more stress hit his shoulders. "What business do they have here? "

"Well, if you had paid attention to the first approximate forty-seven point five seconds of my explanation," Reid began, oddly defiant, "you would know that it's because they were – _we _were – worried." Reid's defiance slipped away almost as quickly as Morgan's sudden rage did. "I'm sorry if you don't want us down here, but you're our teammate, Morgan. We know something's going on; you're not the type to let a phone call get to you, unless you think something's going on. You're our family, and we want to help."

Reid held Morgan's gaze, even as a flush spread across his face. Even though he maintained eye contact, Morgan could see him fiddling with his bag out of the corner of his eye.

"You're my family, pretty boy?" Morgan finally managed, wishing he could replace the word 'family' with something a lot more intimate. "Then c'mere." Morgan held an arm up and out, looking at Reid expectantly. When Reid stared back, looking confused – a rare expression for him – Morgan looped his arm around Reid and pulled him in for a hug.

Their bodies pressed flush against each other, from shoulder to thigh. Heat tingled wherever they touched, even through layers of clothing. Morgan felt Reid's breath against his neck, warm puffs of air against his skin, causing even more of that warm tingling. Reid's arms looped around Morgan's neck, while Morgan's rested on Reid's back, feeling lithe muscle beneath the corduroy jacket.

Morgan had initiated the hug, and he knew that he had to end it, but he didn't know if he had the willpower to. Reid pressed against him, all warm and comforting and masculine, felt more _right_ then anything else had in months. Another moment passed, infinity in a second, and Morgan reluctantly stepped back.

Reid immediately blushed, the color spreading across his face and down his neck before disappearing into the skin covered by his shirt. Morgan himself felt hot, overheated, but knew his dark complexion kept his flush from showing; unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to stop the sigh that escaped him. _Great, Morgan… you're doing a lot to keep this relationship platonic._

"So," Morgan said awkwardly, watching as Reid rubbed a hand up and down his arm rhythmically. "Are you staying here?"

"Here as in this hotel, here as in the lobby, or here as in the general vicinity of Chicago?" Reid asked suddenly. If it had been anyone else, Morgan would've laughed and made a joke, but he knew that Reid was being completely serious. "My plans were originally to stay in this hotel, but I haven't booked a room yet. Actually, did you know that there are 236 active hotels within the Chicago area? The majority of the hotels are-"

"Reid!" Morgan chuckled, cutting off the genius before he could continue to babble.

"Relevant information only. Sorry," Reid responded instantly, ducking his head before walking up to the front desk, stopping only to grab his duffel bag off of the ground, where it had been resting by his feet. Morgan followed him shamelessly.

They were able to, luckily, rent a room for Reid as well. The clerk at the desk had asked if Reid and Morgan would mind sharing adjoining rooms, since the only other option was for them to be placed on different floors. Reid had readily agreed, before glancing back at Morgan to gain his approval. By then, it was too late for Morgan to say otherwise; not that he had a problem sleeping with only a thin wall separating him from Reid, or anything. Oh no, there was no problem at all.

*

*

Morgan practically collapsed onto the bed, throwing his arms wide across the bed and shamelessly arching his back, stretching. "Oh god, this bed feels good," he practically moaned, moving slightly to snatch a pillow from the now mussed up pile. He cracked an eye open to glance at Reid, who was watching Morgan with a look of _something _on his face. "Pretty boy? You in there?"

Reid jolted slightly, a flash of surprise and that _something _crossing his face before being replaced with a more alert expression. "Sorry, I was just thinking, did you know that…" Before he could continue, a pillow was lobbed at him, sailing just over his head. "What was that for?" Reid asked indignantly.

"That, genius, was for forgetting our 'relevant information only' deal." Morgan smirked, keeping his eyes closed and allowing himself to focus only on the banter _(the flirting), _and not on the memories that had been assaulting him all day.

"How do you know that what I was about to say wasn't going to be relevant to the current conversation?" Reid exclaimed, his voice rising adorably withl- no, rising _just_ with indignity. "My next statement could've very well been extremely relevant to the topic at hand!"

"Yeah, it could've been relevant, but was it?" Morgan asked, propping himself partially up on his elbows, back resting against the pillows, and grinning at Reid with the smile he couldn't summon up for Nicole on the plane earlier that day.

"That's beside the point," Reid managed, knowing he was beat. "But I'm going to have a shower – want me to leave the door unlocked?"

Morgan's mouth hung open for a brief second, wondering why Reid would want to leave the _bathroom door open _while he stripped naked and showered. But after a long moment of Reid looking at him in confusion, he realized that he was referring to the door that separated their individual rooms.

"Oh… yeah, sure," he replied hastily, hoping his companion hadn't noticed his blunder. He glanced at Reid just in time to see him wave awkwardly before heading into his room. Morgan let his gaze linger over the doorway for a moment. There was something about Reid that allowed Morgan to let go of his problems and just _be _in the moment. Maybe it was his innocence, something he should've lost considering his childhood, and their job. But whatever it was, Morgan knew that being around was what had made it possible to enjoy his evening.

Morgan flipped onto his stomach, cheek pressed against a pillow as he allowed his eyes to drift shut, regardless of the fact that it was only 7:30 in the evening. The small smile on his face at Reid's antics was replaced with a frown when he thought of the team coming _here, _to the one place where his secrets could be revealed after all these years of hiding.

With that in mind, Derek Morgan drifted off to a restless sleep.

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**Once again, I'm so so **_**so **_**sorry for the delay between chapters! I promise, next chapter will ****not ****take this long. With that said, please review? They really do make finding the inspiration (and time) to write a lot easier!**


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer – I only wish that I owned Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid. *le sigh* The point is, don't bother suing. I don't make enough money for it to be worthwhile.**

***Notes – I was desperate to get this chapter out on time (I update weekly), so I apologize for any mistakes. All mistakes are my own. Enjoy!**

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"_Come on, Derek! The water's going to feel great, I promise," the voice floated from behind him. Even though Morgan knew he should be taking stock in that promise, he couldn't help it when a tingling engulfed his stomach. Not the good tingling like the kind that he got when Stacia passed him a note in class, but the kind that made him feel almost nauseous.._

_He heard himself reply, saying something about heading into the cabin briefly to get changed into his swim suit, but Carl's reply caused him to stop in his tracks. "It's just you and me here, Derek. There's nothing to worry about."_

'He doesn't mean…' _was the first thought that floated through Morgan's mind. But just as quickly, he banished the thought. This was _Carl, _the man who was everything he'd been missing since his father died. If he wanted Morgan to go skinny dipping in the lake, then Morgan would do it. Hell, it would be the least he could do to pay Carl back._

_Morgan quickly turned, not giving himself a chance to question his self-admittedly twisted logic. Instead of following the gravelled road up to a demure, yet modern cabin, Morgan stepped onto a smaller, dirt-ridden path. He walked through a patch of trees, glancing up and noticing that the leaves blocked out almost all traces of the moonlight, leaving him in complete darkness._

_Most kids were scared of the dark, but Morgan found something comforting in it. The dark could hide him; the dark could hide his fears, his sorrow, his tears… it could swallow him whole. And when he emerged from a dark room, or a dark path, the brightness that surrounded him could make him feel a little bit more whole for the briefest second._

_Feeling empowered, protected by trees and the coal black night, Morgan pulled his shirt off over his head, leaving him only in a pair of shorts and sandals. He shuffled forwards and kicked up dust and pebbles with each step until he stepped out onto a sandy shore._

_Glancing down at his arm, Morgan saw that his skin was glowing with a silver sheen in the moonlight. The description sounded as cheesy as one of the romance novels Des was always trying to make him read, but it was the only way to describe how the moonlight was highlighting his chocolate tones._

_Morgan's gaze rose, and he was barely able to stifle his small gasp of surprise. The lake was gorgeous; water was lapping at the shoreline twenty feet from where he stood, just down a small incline. Morgan strained to see the shore on the other side of the lake, but all he could make out were shapeless figures, blurry as if they'd been made by smudged charcoal._

"_Derek! You ready to go swimming?" Morgan couldn't help his small jump of surprise. He'd had no idea that Carl was so behind him… or that he was so _close. _Morgan could feel him breathing on the bare skin of his back._

"_Sure," Morgan forced himself to reply easily, keeping any hint of a tremor from his voice. He also forced himself to ignore the ping of warning his gut gave him._

"_Turn around." Carl's words were spoken in a soft tone, but they had the demanding authority of the man that ordered Morgan to run laps around the field when he misbehaved. Morgan took a deep breath, stalling, before he turned around._

_The first thing he saw was Carl – _all _of Carl. The sight shocked him, and he took a step back, one arm coming to cross his abdomen and clutch at his side instinctively, protectively._

"_Your turn," Carl said, and suddenly there wasn't anything jovial in his face. It was dark, merciless. His eyes were glittering as if stars were trapped inside, stars that burned with an icy cold intensity._

_Morgan stepped back, helplessly obeying the adrenaline pumping through his system, and Carl reached out to press a hand to his shoulder. The touch was like a brand, and Morgan tore free to stumble down the incline, breaking into the water with the plan to swim, to swim as far away as he could get._

_He'd barely waded in past his thighs when he felt something bump into his thighs, slowing him down. Thinking it was a log, Morgan grabbed it and moved to push it aside, out of his way. _

_A hand grabbed his bicep, and Morgan's breath fled in a ragged exhalation. He quickly realized that the hand was white in color, and led _into _the water, not out. A wave of pure horror swept over him when he realized that the _thing _that had been floating in the water wasn't a log. It was a person, a person he'd seen just days ago. Desperately, he tried to move, but he couldn't; it was as if his legs had turned into cement, leaving him glued to the spot. All the while, he could _feel _Carl's presence without knowing where he was. It was torture._

_He bit through his lip until it bled, trying helplessly to hold back the small whimper of terror that was building in his throat. It did no good; the noise escaped him, followed by a low moan of disgust. The noise inspired the corpse, and she tightened her grip on his arm._

_Morgan didn't want to look down – god, he didn't – but a sudden tug to his arm instinctively brought his gaze down. He was confronted with eyes; wide, unseeing eyes. Then the body whispered into the air, blue-white lips moving, and Carl was behind him, and it _hurt, _god did it hurt, and Morgan couldn't help the desperate, garbled scream that tore out of him, ripped from somewhere so deep that it hurt to think about._

_A hand was on his shoulder, and he jolted up, fist drawn and ready to punch –_

"Morgan, it's me, it's me, it's Reid. Shh, it's okay. I need you to breathe for me, okay?"

The first thing that hit him was that he wasn't on a beach. Quickly following that was the revelation that Reid was pinned beneath him, his eyes wide and focused on Morgan's fist. Morgan could see that Reid was trying to look calm, but the minute trembling of Reid's body underneath Morgan's was enough to inform him that Reid was indeed scared.

Part of him was screaming, '_this is Reid!' _and '_It was just a dream,' _but Morgan couldn't bring himself to relax. He kept his fist raised, allowing his eyes to travel over Reid's body in a manner that was purely defensive, completely non-erotic.

"Derek, please." It was a combination of the pleading words and the use of his first name that cut through Morgan's panic. He found himself slowly uncurling his hand and setting it flat on the bed while his other hand moved off of Reid's neck, where it had been pinning the genius down. Reid's entire body seemed to meld into the mattress just the slightest bit, and the trembling ceased.

"What… what happened?" Morgan rasped out, not bothering to move off of Reid. He would in a minute, as soon as he was sure he was _able _to move without collapsing. It had nothing to do with the comfort he was slowly soaking up from Reid's presence, banishing the lingering panic and fear the dream had inspired.

Reid took a deep breath, joining Morgan's slowing pants as the only noises in the room. "I was reading when I heard… commotion, over here," he said delicately. "I came over to check on you… you were having a nightmare. I went to wake you up, and when I touched your shoulder, you panicked," Reid finished, his gaze steady on Morgan's face.

An immediate wave of guilt swept through Morgan, something Reid was quick to pick up on. "It's not your fault, Morgan." The words held sincerity, and Morgan found his apology stuck in his throat. "I _know _better to approach someone who's in the level of, um, distress, that you were in, and yet I did anyways. You were in non-REM sleep, most likely stage three, as well as…" Morgan's face must've shown his confusion, because Reid revised his statement. "You were unconscious. You aren't responsible for your actions. Besides, I'm fine, I promise."

"But…" Morgan began, his words trailing off as Reid levelled him with a glare. Hell, Morgan hadn't known that Reid even _knew _how to glare, but Reid's message was all too clear. _I'm fine. Accept the apology and shut up._

"I should be asking if _you're_ all right, Morgan." Reid's words cut through Morgan's thoughts, a stark contrast to what Morgan had imagined Reid was thinking. "What were you dreaming about?" Reid's tone was soft, soothing, and Morgan found himself straining to remember the details of his dream. When he'd woken up, they'd dissipated like water flowing through cupped hands.

"I… I don't remember," Morgan whispered, shutting his eyes as he thought back. "Um, there was something about our case. The girl, Stephanie… she was like, some kind of animated corpse, or something, in some kind of body of water. A lake, I think?" _A lake… the cabin…_ _Carl. _Just like that, every sordid second of the dream came rushing towards him, hitting him like a freight train. Morgan tensed, muscles stiffening at the remembrance of that touch on his shoulder, Carl standing before him, feeling so damn alone and vulnerable.

Before he realized what he was doing, Morgan had pushed off of Reid and was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to Reid. He knew the sudden movement, the sudden defensiveness, would be the easiest way for the doctor to realize that Morgan was hiding something, but it had been too instinctive to be helped.

"And that's all?" Reid asked, gentle but deliberate. Morgan felt the weight in the bed shift, and realized that Reid was sitting up. He tensed even further, waiting for the inevitable touch. To his surprise, it never came. Morgan glanced behind him and saw that Reid had his back up against the bed frame; he had no intention of moving forwards, on intruding Morgan's personal space. That knowledge allowed him to relax in the slightest.

"She grabbed my arm and told me that it was my fault she's dead," Morgan replied, wanting to be able to give Reid a half-truth, at the very least. He decided not to question why the partial lying was making his chest ache. "Then… then I woke up." _Liar._

"Are you sure there's nothing else?" Reid asked quietly. Morgan turned to face him, and the _knowing _in his eyes caused something in him to snap.

"Yes, I'm sure!" he yelled, watching as Reid flinched backwards, ever so slightly. "And even if I wasn't, how is this any of your damn business? You're not my mother, or my lover, or in any way responsible for me. Hell, why are you even here?" As soon as he finished his outburst, Morgan found he immediately regretted it. The anger drained out of him until he was left with nothing but weariness.

"I'm sorry," he breathed out into the incredibly tense air. "I didn't mean it…" Morgan caught Reid's gaze, and inhaled sharply at the amount of pure _hurt _he saw in those orbs. "Pretty boy, you know I didn't mean it."

"You're right," Reid answered after a beat, "I'm not your mother, or your l-lover, or anything of the sort. Theoretically, I have no right to be involving myself in your life. But I am," here, Reid looked up and locked his stare on Morgan, "your friend. And by definition, a friend is someone who offers support or assistance, as well as caring about one's well being. Apparently, my definition of the word skewed my actions. I apologize for prying." With those oddly formal words, Reid rose off of the bed, brushed past Morgan, and headed into his own room. Morgan saw his shoulders slump as he crossed over the threshold, his almost icy exterior melting away from him.

Morgan knew he should follow Reid and smooth things over. But memories were bombarding him, memories of the first time at the cabin. The dream had gone from blurred to crystal clear, playing out behind his now-closed eyelids like a high definition movie. The contrast between the dream and what had actually happened caused Morgan grab a pillow and hug it to his chest in an oddly vulnerable move.

When he'd turned around at the cabin and seen Carl standing naked in front of him, he hadn't run away. He'd swallowed his surprise, _trusted _that bastard, and stripped before following Carl onto the dock. He'd felt Carl's gaze on him, but had dismissed it as a compulsory thing; checking that he was healthy, that he had enough muscle tone on him for football.

But when they'd headed into the water…

Morgan forced himself to stop thinking, choosing to curl up onto his side in a ball instead. He wasn't sure how long he laid there for, trying his hardest not to think, and banishing whatever wayward thoughts crept into his blank mind.

When he was sure that his calm façade was back in place, Morgan forced himself up off of the bed and towards Reid' room. He noted that Reid hadn't shut the door that adjoined their rooms, absently realizing that it was a sign that Reid wanted to talk.

He knocked once on the wall beside the door, peeking his head in around the corner. "Reid?" he called out quietly, eyes scanning the room. "You there?"

Without thinking, Morgan stepped into the room, hand resting lightly where his gun should've been. "Reid!" he called out, sharper, more concerned. When a quick scan of the room showed that Reid was no where to be found, Morgan pressed his back to the wall and made his way to the bathroom.

"Reid, you in here?" Morgan called as he swung the unlocked door open. That room was empty as well, and the terror that Morgan had pushed away after his nightmare came thrumming back in full force.

He scanned the room, noting that it appeared to be in order. A jacket was hanging neatly in the closet, and one of Reid's many books was lying on the bedside table. _No signs of a struggle._

Panic was threatening to overwhelm Morgan when the door leading to the hallway swung open. Morgan went to grab his gun, cursing when he realized it was still in his room.

"Morgan?" Reid asked as he stepped through the door. "What's going on? Why are you in my room?" Reid shut the door before tucking a lock of hair behind his ear with one hand; the other hand was holding a venti-double-sugar-triple-expresso-shot-macchiato-whatever-it-was that Reid always ordered from Starbucks.

"Thank god," Morgan muttered, bringing a hand up to scrub over his head. "I didn't know where you had gone."

"Sorry I didn't report to you," Reid deadpanned, "but I didn't realize that you were my mother." The jab at their earlier conversation caused Morgan to visibly wince. Reid softened at the cringe, and he stepped further into the room, closer to Morgan.

"I'm sorry," they both said. Morgan cracked a smile while Reid blushed and ducked his head.

"You go first," Reid said, crossing his arms in a would-be authoritative pose; on his pretty boy, it just looked cute.

"I'm sorry," Morgan repeated, searching for the words. "I was kinda high strung, and I snapped at you when you totally didn't deserve it. I didn't mean anything that I said… I'm sorry." Morgan chanced a glance at Reid, and realized that he was already forgiven – Reid had made it that obvious with his body language.

"I'm as much to blame as you are," Reid replied. "You had just suffered a nightmare, and you were traumatized-" Reid clearly didn't notice the glare that Morgan shot at him, "and I pushed you anyways. So, I apologize, as well."

"Apology accepted," Morgan stated simply. They both stared at each other for a moment longer before Morgan cracked a weak half-smile in an attempt to lighten up the tense atmosphere in the room. It seemed to work, because Reid collapsed on the bed, holding his drink high in the air as not to spill it.

"What's in that cup, anyway?" Morgan asked casually as he sat down next to Reid. "Like, twenty pounds of sugar and ten pounds of caffeine?" He grinned at Reid's affronted expression.

"Of course not! You couldn't possibly manage to contain that amount of caffeine and sugar within a cup of this size. In fact, if you took the mass of twenty pounds worth of sugar and combined that with the mass of ten pounds of caffeine – and that's in the incorrect unit, by the way – you would find that… and you were being sarcastic, weren't you?" Reid finished his spiel with a rather embarrassed wave of his hand.

"Oh, pretty boy. Don't feel bad – that's why we love you so." Morgan reached out and ruffled Reid's hair, pretending not to notice when his hand lingered for an extra half second. Reid stuck his tongue out in response, a gesture that had Morgan hysterically laughing, doubled over at the waist.

"Did you just… stick your tongue out at me?" he managed between guffaws of laughter. "Seriously, Spencer?" Reid's expression morphed from self-righteous to serious. It took Morgan a moment to clue in as to why; when he did, his laughter abruptly died down. _Why did I use his first name? Shit, Derek! Way to be subtle._

"Yes I did, as a matter of fact." Reid offered a half smile at Morgan, silently saying '_it's okay', _before adding: "As a matter of fact, when early man was living in small groups or packs, the males, when showing aggression, mistrust or fear, would stand erect, thus exposing the genitals as a threat. In modern society, this would be highly frowned on, so we stick our tongues out as a replacement of sorts."

Morgan looked at Reid, who was self consciously playing with the end of his shirt now that his random fact spouting was over. "Reid," he said deliberately, "_why_ do you know that?"

"In fourth grade, I read a book entitled 'Modern Behaviours and How They Were Derived From Ancient Culture'," Reid answered offhandedly. At Morgan's dumbfounded expression, he added, "And that was a rhetorical question also, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, pretty boy, it was. But hey, I'm sure that book was a lot more exciting then the stuff I was reading in grade four."

Reid let the retort slide, choosing to grab the remote and lay back on the bed. The TV flicked on, and Reid immediately began channel surfing.

"Put on something exciting," Morgan said lazily, scooting up the bed to join Reid. Reid, in turn, looked at him, and Morgan found himself asking, "If that's okay?" more self consciously then he thought he knew how to be.

"It's fine," Reid smiled, turning his attention back to the television. Morgan allowed his head to rest on the bed frame as he marvelled over how _normal _he was feeling. Normally, after a nightmare, it took him hours to feel okay enough to hold a conversation, let alone joke around and tease someone. On top of that, there was the fact that he would normally do anything to avoid contact with people, especially men. But here, with Reid, he found himself almost craving it.

After Carl, he'd vowed that he would never be with a man. That part of him was tainted, and not only was he not willing to share it with anyone else (voluntary or not), no one deserved to deal with it, either.

He supposed he was bisexual, but considering that he refused to act on any urges he'd had towards the male gender, he had always considered himself as straight. Morgan had promised himself f that, after he'd gotten away from Carl, that he wouldn't let what had happened affect him. He was going to move on, forget about it, live his life. His rule to never become involved with a man hadn't been put into effect until he broke his date's nose after his date, Marcus, had become a little too forward.

He hadn't meant punch the man in the face before running off; the action had been instinctive, and more then enough of a message. Derek Morgan was simply incapable of having a gay relationship. But Reid… Reid was slowly breaking down his barriers, making him _want _something that he swore he would never, ever crave again.

Morgan was dragged out of his reminiscing when Reid said something, Judging by his questioning tone, he was expecting an answer. "Um, sure. Yes," he replied, hoping that it was the right response.

Reid raised an eyebrow in turn before simply asking, "So you agree that the posthumous recognition given to the undercover infiltrators of the aforementioned war was indeed a negative action from the government, and that they should've have been so desperate to please the general public?"

There was a pause, and then Morgan's guilty confession of "I wasn't listening" rang through the air. Reid swatted his shoulder to show his disapproval before he focused back on the documentary he was watching.

Morgan tried to follow along – really, he did. But he found his eyes drifting shut within minutes, and he allowed his body to slide down the bed frame until he was lying completely horizontal on the bed. The wave of exhaustion that swept over him was surprising, and he had drifted off to sleep before he could do anything to stop it.

*

*

Reid glanced down, noting that Morgan was asleep on the bed beside him. He skimmed a gentle finger down the side of Morgan's cheek, watching when Morgan turned his face into the touch unconsciously. The action confirmed a suspicion Reid had been carrying for months.

A flush at his newfound knowledge spread across his face, and he felt absurdly grateful that no one was around to see it; that way, he didn't have to duck his head, or babble statistics until people forgot about the influx of blood being pumped under the skin of his face.

Reid rose off of the bed, oddly smooth for his normally awkward disposition, before heading over to the table where his phone was at. He flipped it open, checking his texts to see if Garcia had gotten back to him.

She had been the one to originally tell him that she was worried about Morgan. With a little persuasion, Reid had convinced her to tell him about the details of the phone call Morgan had received, as well as relaying her own reasons for why she was concerned. Reid had been quick to give the team a general review of what was going on, and Hotch had agreed to send Prentiss and Gideon with him to help Morgan out.

When he saw that his inbox had no new text messages, Reid reread the message that he'd originally sent to the self proclaimed tech goddess.

'_Garcia, send me all the information you can gather on a 'Carl Buford.' Thanks, Reid.'_

Morgan had screamed the name in his sleep, begging the man to 'stop, please, stop.' The memory of Morgan's terrified begging had echoed in his head; Reid had a feeling that he didn't need an eidetic memory to remember the terror in those few words.

Reid knew that there were very few things that would be able to invoke that kind of fear in Morgan, and even fewer things that would cause Morgan to become as incredibly hostile and defensive as he did when Reid had questioned him about his nightmare. He also knew that Buford inspired some sort of guilt in Morgan; after all, the dream had ultimately been tied to their most recent case, and Morgan had admitted that the dream-victim had blamed him for her death. Abstractly, that could correlate to Morgan blaming himself for something Carl did, or Carl blaming Morgan for something, or… the possibilities were large, but they gave Reid some form of headway.

Reid shut his phone, setting it carefully back on the table before crawling into bed. In the morning, he would say that he had fallen asleep by accident; truth be told, he didn't want to leave Morgan alone. Statistically, he knew that Morgan having the presence of someone he trusted around him would help lower the probability of him having a nightmare, but that wasn't Reid's only reasoning. _He _wanted to be there, to make sure Morgan was going to be okay.

His reasoning was a lot more selfish then he wanted to believe.

Shutting his eyes but being unable to fall asleep, Reid allowed everything he knew about his current situation to float to the forefront of his mind. He had all of the dots laid out before him. Now, his job was to connect them, whether Derek – Morgan – wanted him to or not.

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**This chapter kind of ran away from me; it wasn't supposed to be so heavy on the character interaction, considering I had originally planned to advance the plot. But, apparently you have to listen to what the characters want to do at all times. Anyway, I promise the plot's going to start a-twisting next chapter. Reviews make my world go 'round. =)**

e He k


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